Before the Storm: Moritz Stefiel: Age 14
by audreyyjp
Summary: I've always wondered why Moritz was always so sexually...confused. And why he had such a bad relationship with his family. Here's my take.


The Secret Life of Moritz Stefiel

By audreyyjp

I've always wondered why Moritz was so sexually…confused, and why he had such a horrible relationship with his family. Here's my take.

CHAPTER ONE

October 1888

Moritz woke up groggy and tired. He had had an _annoyingly_ long night. His grades weren't exactly up to par of what they should've been, and he had been up most of the night studying and working on overdue papers.

Moritz Stefiel had never been an exceptional student. In fact, he'd never even been a _good_ student. His grades were average at best. Moritz could never seem to be able to concentrate in class. It didn't help that his best friend Hanschen Rilow was such a great student, especially in their Latin class.

To the naked eye, Hanschen Rilow was perfect. He was blonde and attractive, had great grades, was fluent in Latin and English, along with his native German tongue, and was very popular. Compared to Hanschen, Moritz was next to nothing. He was unkempt, with messy hair, and below average grades. He was a little odd, and maybe a little crazy (most girls he liked thought he was too weird and unattractive). He was still going through the stages or puberty, and wasn't as sexually up to par as his classmates seemed to be. Moritz was also always second best, and not just to his best friend. His brother Eberhard was like an older, maybe even more perfect version (if that was possible) of Hanschen. Eberhard Stefiel was above all very popular with the ladies, which differed from Hanschen. Sure, plenty of girls fancied Hanschen, but he never seemed to fancy them back.

Through all his outside perfections, Hanschen was far from perfect, a fact only Moritz knew. But of course Moritz overlooked these flaws. After all, Hanschen was the only person who would be his friend. Sure, Moritz used to have friends. In fact he used to have a friend of whom he had been closer to than Hanschen. He used to have Melchior Gabor. They had been the best of friends. When they were young boys, Moritz and Melchior would swim in the river, and run through the fields. They would spend the night in the Gabor's hayloft. They would go to school together and laugh together. They would even have Wendla Bergmann and Ilse Neumann over to Moritz's to play pirates. Moritz and Ilse would be the evil bad pirates and would try to capture the good and beautiful Wendla, and the brave Melchior would have to save Wendla and capture the bad guys. And Melchior always won, and Melchior always got the girl.

But that was when they were boys. When they were 9 and 10. One day Melchior just stopped being friends with Moritz. It may have been because Moritz wasn't popular like Melchior was, or because Moritz was always stressing about school, but they were not friends. Now they were 14. They were at the boys' school; Wendla was at the girls' school. She was still as pretty as ever. They never spent time together, but when Moritz would see her in public with her mother he could not get over how pretty she'd become. Sometimes he'd see her in the woods, or in the park with her three best friends Thea Ingram, Martha Bessel, and Anna Neumeyer. They'd be laughing and chatting. Once he heard them discussing all the boys in his class. He remembered Thea had called Hanschen "a right git with the nicest face in all of Germany." At the word "git" Wendla gasped. Everyone in town knew Wendla was a sheltered girl, and knew a lot less about sex, boys, and anything in the real world than her friends. Of course Thea would never have said anything like that in public, but Thea was a bold and loud girl, who spoke her mind.

And as for Ilse? No one really knew what she was doing. She didn't go to school, and she didn't live at home. Once, Moritz had heard Otto Lammermeier and Georg Zirchnitz gossip of how they saw her walking in the street one night in nothing but knickers and a tablecloth around her body. Moritz had always liked Ilse, and as more than a friend. She was a pretty girl, not like Wendla, but in a bohemian sort of way. She was a free spirit, and had always seemed to enjoy Moritz's company in the same way he enjoyed hers. The night Moritz was going to tell her his real feelings for her, she was kicked out of her house, and had left town. That was about when they were thirteen, almost a year ago. He had seen her a few times since she had come back in town, but only at a distance, and didn't know _how_ he felt about her anymore.

Moritz walked into the kitchen of his household. His mother wasn't there, probably out feeding the chickens, or to buy food. Moritz's father, Hermann Stefiel was sitting at the table, eating his breakfast. Across from Herr Stefiel, sat Eberhard, reading from his Arithmetic book.

When Herr Stefiel saw that Moritz had come in, he looked up, with an angry look on his face. Moritz sat down in a chair, a plate in front of him, but with no food.

"Hello, father," Moritz said, worried.

"Your marks came in today, Moritz. As did Eberhard's," Herr Stefiel said, still frowning. Moritz tried to stay calm, and not make any worried faces. It was hard to do.

"And…" Moritz said, waiting for his father to answer.

"And you're making a complete _fool_ of yourself with your marks! It's embarrassing to this family, and even if you don't care about us, it's embarrassing to yourself! Don't you want to _try_ to get good marks?" Moritz's father was already getting red with madness. Moritz just stared at his empty plate, as his father continued.

"Would you like to see your marks?" Herr Stefiel asked Moritz. Moritz didn't say or make any movement, but was still given a piece of paper, that sat still on his plate.

At Moritz's school, the grading system was pretty simple. A check-plus-plus was a very high mark. A check-plus was above average. A check was average. A check minus was below average. And one lonely little dash? That was a fail. Moritz took the paper and stared at it.

He had a check plus in History, his best subject. He was always proud of his History grade. He looked on. He had a check-minus in Sciences, Mathematics, and Physical Education. He was a disaster in those classes. In his English class he has a check. In his Latin class he had a big fat dash. Moritz was officially failing Latin class. His Latin class was always intimidating. Hanschen and Melchior were in that class, and while Melchior wasn't necessarily good at the subject, the fact he was there was always awkward. Ernst Robel was in that class, and he was an exceptional Latin student. Otto was also in that class, and there was a rumor going around that Georg had made enough marks to move onto that class. There were a few other boys, but they were graduating to the next Latin class up. Moritz had no idea how he was in that class. It was probably because he was always getting checks. He had never _failed_ Latin.

"Your brothers gotten check-pluses in almost ever subject except Mathematics, History and Sciences, where he got check-plus-pluses! Why can't you just be more like your brother, Moritz, for once?" And with that, Hermann Stefiel stalked off. Eberhard smirked, and after about three minutes, walked off, also, Math book in hand.

Moritz sat there, wishing for once he could do something right.

CHAPTER 2

"Failing _Latin_, Hanschen! I can't believe it!" Moritz and Hanschen were in the Rilow's vineyard behind their house. Hanschen and Moritz were outback sneaking red wine while Hanschen's parents were gone. The Rillows were a prominent family in their town, and had lots of money, so they decided to take a last minute trip to Paris, leaving their fourteen-year-old Hanschen alone with their wine vineyard. Bad idea.

"Moritz, you need to chill out."

"Hanschen, I don't know how to chill out! I am failing Latin, and getting low marks in most other classes! My father is mad at me, my mother's disappointed, and Eberhard just walks around smirking. This is a disaster!"

"Well I know one way to chill you out. We'll have some people over, we can drink wine, and be civilized," Hanschen said, sipping his wine from his glass.

"Yes, because it's real mature and civilized to drink when we aren't exactly allowed, Hanschen. We're fourteen!"

"I've never gotten in trouble before. Let's go by the park and see who's there," Hanschen said, getting up, and strolling out front like a prince. Moritz followed awkwardly.

There were definitely people at the park. Thea Ingram was there with Wendla. Hanschen told them they could come over any time and enjoy a drink.

"I don't know, my mother says I have to be home by eight. It's already half fast seven," Wendla said shyly. Hanschen laughed. "Really, Frau Berman, will your mother be mad if you're a few minutes late?"

"Oh yes! I might get scolded, or put to bed without supper," Wendla replied.

"Well I can go! I never get to drink wine, I'm not allowed." Thea said.

"Neither can we. Hanschen's parents are out of town," Moritz said, finally speaking.

"I'm in!" Thea smiled, and walked toward us. She looked at Wendla, who shook her head.

"I really should not go. I don't want to get in trouble," she said, looking a little embarrassed.

"Well, dear, if you'd like to come, we'll be in my backyard all night. I'm only a few roads down from you, sneak out if you really want to," Hanschen smiled and looked at Moritz. "Moritz it's not a party without Ernst and Melchior. Let's go find them also."

So Hanschen, Thea, and Moritz walked to Hanschen's. Wendla, not miffed by the fact Thea left her, skipped through the roads back to her house.

"May I come too?" As Hanschen, Thea, and Moritz wound their way through the park, they heard a voice. They turned, but Moritz didn't have to. The voice was rusty, hard, almost like sandpaper. But at the same time, the voice was quiet, and hopeful. He knew that voice. It was the same voice he played with at age nine, except five years older.

Ilse Neumann stood there in a little yellow dress. He hair was down and strait. She had no shoes on.

"Yes." Moritz said almost automatically. Of course Ilse could come. His childhood friend, his old crush. She was as bohemian, and as pretty as ever.

So, Ilse joined the now party of four, as they strode to find Melchior and Ernst.

CHAPTER THREE

It was now a party of six, sitting in Hanschen's vineyard, sipping wine, and being "civilized". Really they were being anything but civilized. Thea, the wild girl, had had so much wine already, and it was barely half past eight. Unlike Wendla, she didn't have to be home until nine, but how would she explain her breath, and her behavior to her parents? Hanschen, of course, was starting to get drunk, but it was his house. At worst, he would have a terrible headache the next morning. Ernst sat squirming around, looking back from Melchior to Hanschen to Moritz, then down at his feet. Melchior looked like some sort of Roman prince. His sleeves were half rolled up, and his curls were perfect. He laughed at something Hanschen said and his jaw perfectly chiseled out. Moritz envied Melchior Gabor, even today. Even drunk, Thea couldn't keep her eyes off him. Melchior's good looks almost seemed to sober her. Even Ernst couldn't stop looking. Hanschen of course was too out of it to notice anyone for more than five seconds. The only one who wasn't drooling over Melchior was Ilse, who was, surprisingly, eyeing Moritz.

Suddenly, Moritz wanted nothing more than to spend time with her. She was quietly swinging on a daisy-lined swing hung by a tree. She was only holding the rope with one hand; her half empty wine glass was in her other hand, dangling lazily. Unlike the others, she had white wine in her glass. Moritz really liked how she was different, even in her taste in wine. She was so…interesting.

Moritz walked over to the swing. "You remember the pirate game?" Moritz said pushing the swing for her. Startled, Ilse spun around, and accidentally splashed her wine all over Mortiz's white shirt. Moritz gasped. Isle put her hand to her mouth. It was silent for a moment, except for drunken Thea, slurring together a story about something in her Sciences class. Suddenly, Ilse started giggling. Moritz laughed. They soon couldn't _stop_ laughing. Ilse tilted her hard back, but her head only went so far, as it was blocked by Moritz's wine-stained chest. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Of course I remember the pirate game. And Melchior was the perfect, beautiful pirate hero. He would always save Wendla-

"Because we would always take her to our secret lair!" Moritz said laughing. Ilse nodded.

"Those were great times. I loved the pirate game." Ilse said in a bittersweet tone.

"We were so young," Moritz said, pushing the swing.

"And innocent," Ilse said, taking a drink, then realizing there was no wine left. She continued. "Are you and Melchior still good friends?"

Moritz shook his head, looking down.

"Why?"

Moritz shrugged. "We grew apart I guess. I wasn't popular or smart. He was." Ilse turned around looking at Melchior. Moritz did the same. He was practically groping Thea, but of course he wouldn't hurt her. He was too gentle to ever hurt a woman. Thea was quite pleased, but getting more and more drunk, she wouldn't remember Melchior's hands on her body the next morning.

"He's definitely popular with the girls, I know Thea's thought he was pretty magical for a while." Ilse said turning back. Moritz gave a fake laugh. Thea was quite taken by Melchior.

"Yeah, well. I've become pretty close with Hanschen. I never see Wendla. Today was the first time I've seen her in three months. She's so sheltered. I don't think Melchior's seen her in a few years. And you…"

"I never see Wendla anymore."

"No. I mean. I haven't _seen_ you in such a long time. You haven't changed. You're the same pretty young bohemian, Ilse," Moritz couldn't believe his words. He was never that forward. There was the fact he couldn't be forward, since girls never gave him a second glance, especially around Hanschen.

"You haven't changed much either. You're still the attractive, odd, boy who I've always been fascinated by," Ilse smiled.

Moritz blushed. "I fascinate you?" Ilse nodded. "You're an odd one, Moritz Stefiel. That's why I enjoy your company."

Moritz knew he didn't have to say another word. For a while he just stood there, pushing the swing where Ilse sat, admiring her uncanny ability to charm him so.

Melchior Gabor watched Ilse Neumann, the young bohemian spirit, and Moritz Stefiel, his old friend; Moritz was pushing her on a swing. They were chatting and laughing. Envy burned in Melchior's body. Here he was in Hanschen Rilow's backyard vineyard. Hanschen was a handsome man, but Melchior had a feeling he more fancied men, a fact that would disgrace his family. It seemed that Melchior was the only one who actually thought that. No one even thought twice about that with Hanschen. With his good looks, any girl would refuse to think that. Ernst Robel was another who seemed a little more interested in men, and it was more obvious to people. He was such an innocent boy, and didn't talk often.

And of course there's Thea. Melchior was not interested in Thea in any way, but here he was groping her, and here she was letting him do it, and practically throwing herself at him. It was ridiculous, and he didn't exactly know why he was doing it.

Moritz wanted to talk to Moritz, his old best friend. They weren't friends anymore because of grades and popularity, things that Moritz lacked, and that Melchior had. It seemed it was just some silly child-hood friendship. But Melchior missed his best friend. And he missed Ilse Neumann; she was always a good friend.

And Wendla Bergmann. How he missed Wendla Bergmann.

He hadn't seen her in years. Barely even glances. He saw her about a year ago walking to school alone. It was actually the first time he'd seen her without a group of her friends around her. She had been thirteen. She was as beautiful as ever though. He dark hair fell in perfect curls. She was a small girl, and walked with such grace, and she had the prettiest smile. He wanted to see her again. But somehow, he never did.

"Ilse, why did you leave?" Moritz asked. It was almost nine. Thea was so drunk, and Ernst awkwardly volunteered to take her home, since they only lived three doors down, and Ernst hadn't had a sip of wine. His wine glass sat completely full. Melchior and Hanschen were chatting, and knew Ernst would be back.

"I left because I had a bad home life."

Moritz snorted. "As bad as mine? My dad yells at me for bad marks."

"My mom yelled at me for not finishing all my food at supper."

"My dad gets mad when a wake up a moment past eight on weekends."

"My dad got mad when I stayed up late reading."

"My mom yells at me for writing stories instead of homework."

"My dad beat me."

Moritz had nothing to say back to that except, "Oh." Ilse nodded. "I didn't know, Ilse."

"Oh, I know you didn't, Moritz. It's just a fact. And one night I couldn't take it. So I yelled at him. Then he… hurt me. Then kicked me out. And I left town."

"Well where did you go?" Moritz asked awkwardly.

"Berlin." Ilse said.

"Berlin! BERLIN?" Moritz asked. "How did you get there?"

"Well, I knew I had to get out eventually, so I had been saving up. Since I was eight. I saved up every cent I found, any cash I could get my hands on, and no I never _stole _money, Moritz, so don't give me that look. So by the time I was about twelve, I left, and I had enough money to get some train tickets. It wasn't that expensive. I even had meals there. I lived there for almost two months. It's crazy how much money I had saved in four years. But then I was out of money. I had 20 marks left and a train ticket. I knew I had to come home."

"But Ilse, do you know how stupid that was? You could've been kidnapped! Taken! Killed!"

"Yeah, but I wasn't." Ilse replied. Moritz was almost speechless.

"Where did you live?" Moritz asked.

"There was an all-night club they let me stay in. It was kind of a strip club. They're pretty classy and ahead of times up in Berlin, did I mention that? But anyway, they had random stray mattresses lying around. It was pretty raunchy. They had a back room they just let me sleep in. I got sheets and blankets and pillows with some of my money. I got insanely lucky up in Berlin. It actually wasn't so bad."

"Ilse that's scary!" Moritz said, shocked.

Ilse giggled. "Yeah. It was. But it was an adventure. When we're old enough, will you go to Berlin with me?"

"Will we sleep in strip clubs?"

"No. We'll sleep on park benches instead."

"Ilse!"

"I'm kidding, Moritz!" Ilse laughed at him. Moritz smiled.

"Yes. After I'm done with school. It'll be an adventure. Whether we're in the nicest hotel there is, or we _do_ end up on a park bench. We'll be there. I promise."

Ilse looked up and smiled. Moritz smiled back, and without thinking, he kissed her. It was quick, and at first he thought he had missed. He had never kissed a girl before. Wendla has kissed him on the cheek once, but that didn't count. He was _kissing_ Ilse Neumann. She situated herself, and let him hold her. It wasn't an incredibly long kiss, but it was a perfect kiss.


End file.
